


In Waiting Rooms

by TatsuKitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cats, Fluff, Kinda Crack, Knitting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatsuKitty/pseuds/TatsuKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The waiting room in Saint Mungos was small and dotted with squashy armchairs in neutral tones Harry assumed was supposed to be soothing. He sighed in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair, undoubtedly making himself look like a peeved hedgehog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Waiting Rooms

**Author's Note:**

> This was the brainchild of my friend and I after too much icecream! I went through and re-edited and beta'd this so hopefully it's a bit better!

The waiting room in Saint Mungo's was small and dotted with squashy armchairs in neutral tones that Harry assumed were supposed to be soothing. He sighed in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair, undoubtedly making himself look like a peeved hedgehog.

  
Part of his frustration was that he couldn’t get OUT of this. The other part was that he was sent here in the first place. He looked at the knuckles of his right hand where they were still slightly red. He could still feel the satisfying crunch of the man’s nose under his knuckles but, to be fair, he didn’t know why a comment about Ginny sent him into such a flying rage. She could take care of herself, after all. She was even in the room. She, in fact, had sent her bat bogey hex straight at him and then had him bound and taken to Shacklebolt to explain himself. He winced visibly at the reminder.

  
Eugene Fitzimmons was in for a charge of magical spousal abuse, which always sent Harry from perfectly calm to on edge immediately, much like abuse or neglect cases. In fact, most cases sent him into a slow, stewing rage. Fitzimmons, knowing he was caught, decided to lash out at Ginny, telling Harry he should ‘let him teach ‘er ta proper place fer a woman’. Ginny had told him, and had been correct of course, that she’d heard worse before. As he sat in the waiting room now, he finally felt shame creeping in and disturbing his ire.

  
That was…. Until Draco Malfoy, of all people, walked in and took the seat across from him. Harry goggled for a moment, and then felt another flush of shame and anger wash over him when the git decided to speak.

  
“Well, hello, Potty. Did they finally bring you in to do something about that savior complex? What did you do, rescue orphans from a burning building?” He drawled. He was still pale, still pouty, mouth chewed on and red, with dark purple bags under his eyes. His hair was lank, and his robes were wrinkled. Harry felt an odd company of pity and the familiar rivalry. He’d done what he could to help the Malfoy family, since Narcissa had helped him, but that didn't mean he had to like them.

  
“No. That was just the one time.” He said, spitefully, and with a meaningful look up and down Malfoy. It was a low blow, he knew. Narcissa, in a true show of love and loyalty, had kept Draco out of Azkaban at the expense of her own freedom. Malfoy flushed in a satisfying manner that was promptly ruined when he blinked rapidly and his eyes filled with tears. Harry felt himself sharply backpedal. “Why are you here, then?” he asked, hoping to distract him.

  
“Bugger off, Potter.” Malfoy replied in a voice gone deep and gravelly with the impetus to not cry. That was when Healer Ashford opened the door and called out.

  
“Mr. Potter?” Harry stood, still flushed, and headed into the office.  
  
******

 

Harry took several deep breaths and pulled angrily at the yarn. This was supposed to be soothing?! He took a break, pacing the waiting room in Saint Mungo's once again. He kicked a chair in a fit of pique before returning to undo all the knitting he’d gotten started. A moment after, same as last time, Draco Malfoy came in. He was bundled in thicker robes this time and eyed Harry in a manner most people would reserve for an angry bear.

  
“Potter.” He said, in a cautious manner that was the verbal equivalent to his expression.

  
“Hullo.” Harry replied sullenly, and was incongruously pleased when Malfoy’s eyebrows attempted to become part of his hair line. He wound his ball of green yarn up and started the tedious task of casting on again.

  
“….So… what are you doing to that yarn?” Malfoy asked, pulling his knees up and stroking the front of his robes. Harry blinked at him a bit, confused and curious.

  
“…Attempting to knit.” He admits. “It’s… supposed to be soothing.”

  
“Oh, so you didn't kick a chair before I came in?” Malfoy drawled, a ghost of his old smirk darting across his face.

  
Harry swore and sent him a sheepish grin. “Well. I did say supposed to be. It’s… I am not very good yet.” He ruffled his hair again, feeling oddly nervous as he admitted, “I have to come here for anger management.”

  
“….Well, you always were particularly violent.” Malfoy replied, but was interrupted by a tiny mewl from his robes. Harry stared at him in disbelief.

  
“Did you mew at me, Malfoy?”

  
“You might want to get that hearing problem looked at while you’re here as well, Potter,” He sneered. The Healer came out and called Harry in again. He sat nervously this time.

  
“Kicked a chair, Harry?” She asked, not unkindly.

  
“…I messed up my knitting. It’s not exactly soothing.” He muttered. “It makes it even more impressive that Mrs. Weasely manages to make sweaters for us every year…”

  
“It’s good that you’re equating it to positive memories. Try and focus on the productivity. When you get angry or feel violent, you’re supposed to head for something soothing to help ground you. Did you pick up those potions I prescribed?”

  
“No.” He admits, hanging his head with a bit of sullen shame.

  
“Harry. Post-traumatic stress isn’t something you should ignore. It could be part of your issue dealing with your anger about it. Now… would you forgo skel-o-grow if someone vanished your femur?”

  
“No.” He sighs. “But… I don’t think I have that! I think I’m pretty well adjusted to life after Voldemort!”

  
“Well adjusted people don’t punch people for no reason, Harry. We spoke, very briefly, about your childhood?”

  
“I don’t want to talk about that.” He immediately snapped and clicked his knitting needles together in the next stitch he worked, pulling the yarn taught.

  
“Why not?” She asks again, watching him.

  
“Because it’s over! It doesn’t matter anymore!” He shouts, needles clicking faster.

  
“It does, because PTSD and similar disorders can have triggers. Something triggers your rage, Harry, and the more I know about it, the better I can help you work against it.”

  
“I DON’T HAVE RAGE! I AM PERFECTLY FINE!”

  
“….I see.” She replies, looking a little incredulous. Harry realized then that he was standing and sat down a bit sheepishly. He picked up his needles from where he threw them.

“So, your assignment for this week is to journal, Harry. I want you to keep it with you and write down whatever you’ve been feeling during the day. I don’t have to read it, but I want you to look it over before our meeting next week.”

  
He agrees quietly, still feeling ashamed. When he walks out, the waiting room is empty.

  
*****  
He journals dutifully, feeling steadily more ashamed of himself. He goes to two more meetings, and finally takes the damn potions. He knits a lopsided, hole-riddled scarf. Malfoy teased him mercilessly but doesn't look like he’s slept in a long while. He looks outwardly the way that Harry feels inwardly; like he’s raw to the touch, fragile, uncertain, and frankly a little bit scared. They talk about the Dursleys when Harry finally stops yelling at her. He hadn’t thought about it in years, but he realized freak was a trigger. He may have realized it after he beat another suspect to a pulp and was suspended from the force for using it.

He is starting on a rib knit scarf when Malfoy comes in, covered in cat hair with swollen eyes. He takes the seat closest to Harry, this time.

“Well, that one doesn’t look like utter shite yet,” He remarks. “What did you do to your hands?”

  
“I…Er—I…Maybe. Er. Broke a suspects face in.” Harry admits quietly.

  
“So, Anger management going well?” Malfoy drawls and chuckles.

  
“It’s. Harder than I thought it’d be. I didn’t. Er. Didn’t really think I had a problem, yeah?” He looks up, forehead crinkling when he takes in Malfoy. There’s a sore on his lip where he’s chewed it, this time.

  
“I know how that goes.” Malfoy says in an oddly commiserating tone. His jacket squirms and a kitten pokes it head out, all spikey black fur and green eyes. It is almost like looking at himself in a minuscule, adorable form. Malfoy’s neck flushes red and he pokes it on the head. “Cerberus, no!”

  
“Cerberus?” Harry laughs and reaches to scratch behind the kitten’s ears. His knuckles graze Malfoy’s neck and they look up at each other. Malfoy’s eyes really are impossibly grey this close, and his lips part a little.

  
The moment is broken when Healer Ashford cleared her throat and called for Harry to come in.

  
“G’luck, Malfoy.” Harry says, clearing his throat nervously. Malfoy refuses to meet his eyes.

  
“You too, Harry.” Malfoy replies very quietly, petting Cerberus on the head gently.

  
****

  
The next week, Harry is working on his first hat, the ribbed scarf finished. He was in the waiting room knitting quietly and thinking about his job with a frown when Malfoy burst in, Cerberus in one hand and the daily profit in the other.

  
“What the fuck happened, Potter?!” He waggled it. Harry blinked in confusion.

  
“Erm?” He said intelligently.

  
“The she-weasel! She ran off and is engaged to that… I don’t know what house he was in, actually.” Malfoy’s ire tapered off and he stared in confusion.

  
“Oh, Corner. I think he was a Ravenclaw? But, she didn’t run off. We haven’t dated since school. She’s just my partner at the Aurors.” He arched a brow at Malfoy, who flushed. He took his usual seat but sat cross-legged this time.

  
“Obviously, I was coming to mock you.” He replied primly, kissing Cerberus on the head. His black pant legs were covered in white and ginger cat hair.

  
“With your indignation?” He teased back goodnaturedly and started working decreases on his hat.

  
“It was indignation that you weren’t tied into your own knitting.”

  
“….You want me tied up, Malfoy?” He replied mildly. Malfoy flushed bright red and spluttered, and then scoffed a bit, clearly hunting for a reply.

  
“Bugger you, Scarhead.” He mutters.

  
“Well, that’s what I was assuming you were implying. Thanks for clearing that up.” Harry grinned, and Malfoy stares at him with wide grey eyes. He flushed so red that he almost matches Ron’s hair. Harry leans over and scratches Cerberus again, and the kitten mewls happily. Malfoy gulps. “Oh calm down, I was teasing, Malfoy,” Harry chuckled.

  
“….Teasing?” He replies and his eyes narrow. “So, someone told you and you thought it was funny. Thanks for clearing that up then, scarface.” He sneered.

“Told me what?” Harry frowned, eyebrows narrowing. “The hell is your problem?”

  
“Told you I was gay, so of course I’d have to be hitting on the boy wonder. Fuck off!” Malfoy snarled and it reminded Harry immediately of being back in Hogwarts.

  
“IT WOULD BE A LITTLE BLOODY IRONIC!” Harry shouts back just as Healer Ashford opens the door. He rips the finished hat off the needles and throws it at Malfoy. “IT WAS FOR YOU, YOU BLOODY TWAT!” and then stomps into the office, fuming.

  
Healer Ashford blinks at him. “….My. It’s been a while since you blew up like that. Care to share?”

  
“Draco Malfoy is a twat,” He grumbles and then immediately feels twelve and not twice that.

  
“Why do you say that?” She asks mildly.

  
“Er. Um. Well. I thought we were kinda friendly now. But. Apparently not.” He huffs.

  
“And you want to be his friend?”

  
“I saved his life. So. I guess?” He frowns in consternation.

  
“How did you do that?”

  
Harry explains the situation, leading to questions about the room of requirement, which led to questions about sixth year. Which somehow led to questions about his sexuality.

  
“..Uh. I think I’m erm, Bi? I like both.” He mutters, red faced. “..Prefer guys though.” He practically whispers. Healer Ashford’s face clears.

  
“Have you considered spending time with him when you’re not waiting in the office?”

“No. But---”

  
“Alright. Your homework for the week is to explain to Mr. Malfoy why you were angry without yelling. Or throwing things at him. It’s good that you’ve kept up with the knitting, but remember why you’re knitting in the first place.”

  
This week was going to be difficult.

  
***

 Two days later found Harry owling both an apology and an invitation to dinner to Malfoy. Hermione and Ginny both boggled at him for a moment. “…Dinner? With Malfoy? Since when have you even been seeing Malfoy?”

“Um. He goes to the same mind Healer that I go to,” He muttered. That got them sharing another look.

  
“That… doesn’t bode well, Harry. Just…be safe, ok?” Ginny patted his arm bracingly.

  
“I threw my knitting at him last time. He probably won’t say yes.” Harry shrugged.

  
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione sighed in exasperation. He gave her a sheepish smile in return.

******

  
Malfoy arrived with a slightly larger but no less scruffy Cerberus for dinner, and a smaller, ginger cat. “This is Octavius.” He intoned, with an almost dare. Harry didn’t really know what to make of the cats, so just petted Octavius on the head.

  
“You like to give big names to little animals.” He offered with a half-smile, feeling distinctly off kilter. He was knitting like Mrs. Weasely and Draco Malfoy carried cats with him conceivably everywhere that he went.

  
“They’ll grow into them eventually, I am certain. Besides, Octavius is a bit regal. The others were being cheeky with him, so I brought him today too.”

  
“How many do you have now?”

  
“Er.” He flushed. Harry paused, momentarily stunned that Malfoy was capable of stuttering. “Seven, now, with Octavius. I have Ophelia, Cerberus, Octavius, Aloysius, Cerridwyn, Wilhelmina, and Perseus.”

  
“That is a significant amount of cats. Does your Healer know you stash Cerberus along?” Harry scooped up the aforementioned kitten before he could scratch the back of his couch.

  
“The Healer encouraged it, a bit. He says I need to slow down a little though. He suggested I take in a cat to alleviate the…feeling that my house was far too large.” He coughed a little. Harry thought, in a rare moment of insight, perhaps Malfoy was covering up that he was lonely. “They’re slightly addicting though. I may have a savior complex of my own. I take in strays, you see. They’re always so thin, and bedraggled, and sad…” Malfoy cuddled Octavius to his chin. Harry was brought immediately back to sixth year when Malfoy was almost pointier than he was now, still pale, crying to Moaning Myrtle in a bathroom because he had no one else to talk to. Then he remembered casting sectumsempra and nearly watching Malfoy bleed to death on the floor and the sheer panic, not just for the potential murder, but that Malfoy would be gone. Then the rescue from the Fiendfyre and Draco’s panicked arms hooked around his own waist. He felt himself flush.

  
“Now you know why it’s so addicting to rescue humans, too.” He eyed his Auror robes. “Surprisingly, Auror duty doesn’t involve rescuing people so much.” He jibed at himself.

  
“Pity, that. What’s a hero to do when there’s nothing to save?”

  
“Learning to knit sweaters, now.” Harry grinned cheekily. Draco returned it and then shook his head.

  
“So, they haven’t revoked your needle privileges yet? That might be the biggest miracle you’ve pulled off, Potter. You didn’t stab anyone?”

  
“Not yet, but keep teasing my knitting and see!” He mock threatened, heading to the kitchen when he heard Cerberus clamber into the sink. “Out of there, you’re a cat. You should avoid all watery places. Especially ones that will be where I drain pasta.” He looked up to find Draco staring at him with a softer version of his smirk and his heart did an odd flip flop in his chest while his stomach swooped not unpleasantly.

  
“Cooking me pasta? I had assumed it would be take out.”

  
“Ah, I’m actually a decent cook. If you like pasta?” Harry asks belatedly.  
  
“I like it just fine. I’ve been practicing cooking too but I’m pretty woefully inept. Really, house elves are indispensable. How do muggles do anything?”

  
“With fire, typically,” Harry quipped back and gave him a crooked grin. Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Harry shrugged a little and then started walking Draco through the steps of making Alfredo. He watched intently, stroking Octavius on the head.

  
“Fascinating. Where did you learn to do that?”  
  
“Er. Well. I used to cook for my muggle relatives when I was a child.” Harry replied, taking a deep, fortifying breath. One of his assignments from Healer Ashford was to be honest whenever possible, even if it made him uncomfortable.

  
“For them. Not for us. That’s an important distinction.” Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  
“Well. Yes. Er. I didn’t have a great childhood. Shite family, mad man killed my parents, that whole sob story.” He waves his hand dismissively.

  
“I thought you would have been rather worshiped at home. Honestly, probably doted on like my parents doted on me.” Draco looks briefly pained and sighs.

  
“I’m sorry. I tried my best to keep them out of there.” Harry offers, hesitantly pressing a palm to Draco’s shoulder. He starts, looking up at him.

  
“You did. My mother was just so concerned with keeping me out of Azkaban that she forgot I had no idea how to live on my own.” He shakes his head. “I deserved it. She covered for me and lied. I was the one who cursed Katie Bell. I almost killed Ron Weasely too.” He looked uncomfortable, gaze boring into the floor.

  
“It was for your family. You and your mom saved my life.” Harry shifts awkwardly. “I never thanked you proper for that. So. Thank you.” Draco’s head flew up and he stared at Harry incredulously.

  
“When did I--?” He looks utterly baffled.

  
“You had to know it was me in the manor, with the swollen face?” He gestured up to his face awkwardly. “But you said you weren’t sure.”

  
Draco laughed shakily. “I really wasn’t sure, Potter. I was also too chicken shit to identify you and have it not be you.”

  
“Hey, I’m still alive, so I’m not complaining.” He shot Draco another crooked grin.

  
“…Thank you. For pulling me out of the fire.” Draco said in reply, voice suddenly deeper and quieter. Harry just smiled in return and Cerberus attempted to crawl up Draco’s pants, effectively distracting them.

  
They sat to eat, chatting a bit. Draco did an impression of Professor Snape that was so spot on, Harry felt vaguely panicked for a minute. He spoiled it completely by cracking up at Harry’s dismayed face, and they tossed good natured insults back and forth for a while. When dinner was finished, the atmosphere went back to being a bit awkward, with Draco clinging to his cats nervously and hovering.

  
“Could—er. I come meet the rest of the cats sometime?” Harry asked. Some of the steel melted out of Draco’s spine.

  
“So presumptuous, Potty, inviting yourself over.” Draco drawled and smirked. “I suppose it can be arranged. What works for your schedule?”

  
“Er, any day, really. I’m still suspended.”

  
“And I am a dreadful layabout frivoling away my fortunes on cat food. Let’s say Friday, then? I’ll attempt cooking something serviceable. Or buy ingredients and make you do it for me.”

  
“Alright, mate. See you Friday.” Harry laughed and watched as Draco Disapparated with his cats. He sank slowly to a seat on the couch.

  
“I’m so buggered.”

  
*******

In true fashion, once Harry began obsessing he found it hard to stop. He would be at Malfoy Manor again on Friday, and he had no idea how to feel about that. Rather, he had two distinctly contrary feelings about that; He was excited and trepidatious about spending time with Malfoy again so soon now that they had managed to stop arguing, and terrified that the memories of the war and Voldemort were going to ruin the entire evening and that they would sit and stare at each other in silent remorse the entire evening.  
It could go either way at this point.

  
Hermione had been spectacularly unhelpful when he came to her for advice. She had simply given him a look that proclaimed she had known since their sixth year and had been waiting patiently for harry to puzzle it out for himself. His friends could really be assholes.

  
He found himself anxiously working on a new grey scarf, shaped like a ferret and made out of soft alpaca yarn. He was surprisingly close to finishing it in the time before Friday. He hoped Malfoy thought it was as funny as Harry found it.

  
Friday came and he grabbed up the ferret scarf and a multitude of cat toys before he Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. The peacocks were ambling around but went on attack mode almost as soon as he opened the gate. Being the hero of the wizarding world—he fled. He dashed for the door of the manor at top speed, nearly bowling Draco over. Not that draco needed any help, doubled up laughing as he was.

  
“Pack it in. I brought you a present.” Harry grinned and handed him the ferret scarf. Draco stared at it for a moment and then gave him a deadpan expression.

  
“A cashmere ferret?”

  
“Alpaca, and it’s a scarf.” He replied. Draco wrapped it around his neck and lifted the ferret face to his own.

  
“It’s not nearly as cute as I was.” He drawled. Harry cracked up breathlessly, resting his hands on his knees. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, but it was somehow better. Draco’s eye glinted with humor when Harry finally stood up.

  
“I need to work out more. Those peacocks gave me a run for my money.” He made a show of patting his stomach as if he had a cramp.

  
“Yes, might do something about that body too. You’re a shrimp, Potter.” Draco drawled, leading the way through the foyer. Harry paused, lifting up his shirt to show his stomach and the lean muscle on it.

  
“I think I’m ok.” He shrugged and then looked up. Draco’s eyes were wide and the tips of his ears pink.

  
“You might pass.” He shrugged and then opened a side room, one that Harry hadn’t seen the last time he’d been here. He felt vaguely giddy and uncertain, but that shifted to incredulous when he saw the sheer amount of cats in the room. Seven cats was a lot in abstract and a mob in person. They immediately yowled and mewed, winding around ankles.

  
“I brought them presents, too.” Harry grinned and tossed out the cat toys, causing a small riot.

  
“Looks like you’re a freak too.” Draco sent him a smile. Harry felt his spine stiffen of its own volition, his hands balled into fists and he stopped himself a bare second before he reached for his wand. The color drained out of Draco’s face.

  
“Don’t call me that word.” Harry managed. “I know you were joking. I am not mad at you. I do not like that word.” He recited, just as Healer Ashford told him to.

  
“I—I’m sorry, Harry.” Draco muttered.

  
“It’s ok. I just—that word.” He shakes his head to clear it and takes several deep breaths. “Anger management is working though. I didn’t do something I’d regret.” He gives a weak ghost of a smile.

  
“Would you? Regret it, I mean.” Draco asked, looking painfully uncertain before a blank, uninterested expression fell into place.

  
“Of course I would. You’re my friend.” He reached out and placed a tentative hand on Draco’s shoulder.

  
“Oh, don’t get all sappy on me, Potter.” Draco allowed the touch but rolled his eyes. Harry felt the residual tension leave his body. Harry snorted and then took a seat right on the floor to play with the cats.

  
“You’re starting to remind me a bit of Ms. Figg. If you get any worse, I’m gunna have to schedule an intervention.”

  
“Who?” Draco arched a brow. Harry launched into the story of Ms. Figg, ending with her aid during his trial. “Well, why didn’t you vacation with your family? And what the bloody hell was the wizangamot thinking?”

  
This was the hardest part. Harry launched into the whole tale of his family, staring at a particularly aged Cassiopeia in his lap the whole time. When he looked up, Draco’s face was an odd moue of impressed and angry.

  
“Let me get this straight, Potter. You lived with these god awful pigs, and then spent your entire life defending muggles?”

  
“Well…yes?”

  
“You weren’t spoiled. You were…abused. They abused you and you protected them.”

  
“It wasn’t abuse—“

  
“Bollocks! They locked you in a cupboard, Potter!” Draco snapped. “They made you cook and clean for them and lied to you! They put bars on your window! They…They called you freak, didn’t they? That’s why you hate that word!” He stood, pacing in a rage. Harry sat there, stupefied.

  
“Yes, but—“

  
“NO. No buts, Potter.” Draco shook his head and then flopped next to him, covering his face with the scarf. “You won’t let me hex them, will you?”

  
“I don’t actually know where they are.”

  
“Even if you did, you still wouldn’t.”

  
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble,” He replied, attempting to lighten the mood.

  
“Did you have to be amazing? Was it truly necessary?” Draco whined.

  
“I—er, sorry, what?” He asked in confusion. His confusion didn’t abate in the slightest when Draco sat up and kissed him. His body apparently had no problems with this, as his fingers were almost immediately tangled into Draco’s hair. He gasped and Draco took it as an invitation, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

  
Harry shifted closer, making a sound that he was sure he’d find time to be embarrassed about later. Draco’s fingers shifted to the hem of his shirt, playing with the small strip of skin bared between it and his trousers. Draco pulled back but Harry followed, pressing another kiss to him immediately. Draco moaned and the sound went straight to Harry’s cock. He moved Draco’s scarf to kiss his jaw. His breath was ragged in Harry’s ear.

  
“Not that I’m complaining, but…what was that, Draco?” He murmured, kissing his ear.

  
“I just. You’re. I,” Draco stammered, arching his neck up to Harry.

  
“I’m what?” He asked, pulling back and stroking his hair from his face.

  
“You’re you. You’re amazing. And I want you.” Draco eyes trained on his, a deeper stormy grey with desire.  
  
“Good. Because I want you, too. Have done for ages, actually.” Harry admitted.

  
“Ages?” Draco’s brows pinched and Harry kissed between them.

  
“…Healer Ashford and I talked about it, actually. Since about sixth year.” He flushed and pulled back slightly.

  
“Sixth year? Bit of a masochist there, Potter. I kicked your face in.”

  
“I didn’t say it wasn’t masochistic.” He chuckled. Draco chuckled after a moment as well.

  
“Masochistic on my part, too. Fancied you when you were stalking me around that year too.” Harry pulled him in to kiss him again, pressing closer. He was interrupted by Cassiopeia yowling about an inch from their faces.

  
“Not here.” Draco murmured and then stood, offering a hand to Harry. He took it, pulling himself up easily. Draco led him up another back corridor, opening the door to a bedroom. Harry gulped.

  
“Er. Mal-Draco. I haven’t really—With.” He faltered. He felt a little better when Draco looked incredulous.

  
“Are you shitting me?”

  
“I was busy.” He replied defensively. Draco just grinned, tugging Harry closer by his trousers.

  
“I think I actually like this. Harry Potter, all to myself. Finally.” He sighed in a contented fashion and then moved to kiss Harry’s neck. Harry’s eyed dropped shut and he buried a hand in Draco’s hair again. It was almost criminal how talented Draco’s mouth was. He shifted, tugged at Draco’s shirt, and slid his hands inside.

  
Draco responded by stepping back and lifting his arms, letting Harry pull it over his head. He was still rail thin, lightly muscled. He had a few pale scars and the dark mark stood out like spilled ink on a blank parchment. Harry immediately trailed his fingers over the marks, reveling in Draco’s gasp when his knuckles grazed his flat, pink nipples.  
“I’m sorry.” He murmured softly.

  
“Good, make it up to me.” Draco smirked, lifting Harry’s own shirt. Harry almost felt the need to cover himself again. He was riddled with scars, pale pink but visible, from the locket, the trip through Gringotts, curse scars from work, and the knife line from where Voldemort had taken his blood. Draco frowned in curiosity, his mouth soft. He’d twisted his mouth in so many vicious ways that there was a wickedness to it, even when relaxed. Harry leaned in and kissed him again as Draco’s fingers traced Harry’s own scars.

  
They stumbled over to the bed and harry went down first, scooting backwards up to the pillows. Draco crawled between his legs, pressing their hips together as they kissed again. Harry felt a brief flash of embarrassment when his erection pressed into Draco’s hip, but felt an immediate rush of desire when Draco’s hard cock nudged beside his own. He arched up with a sharp gasp and ran his hands up and down Draco’s back.

  
Draco shifted, undoing both their trousers. Harry gulped and arched eagerly into his touch. He kissed him again, mind going dizzy and feverish with want. “Please” He managed to beg.

  
Draco quickly tugged both their trousers and pants off, fumbling in a drawer for a small bottle of lube. Harry gulped, tensing up nervously. Draco pressed a kiss just below his belly button, which was a surprising mix of ticklish and erotic. Harry took a deep breath, letting out a breathless laugh.

  
Draco flashed a grin at him as he lubed up his finger. Harry gasped as he teased against his entrance before pushing into him. His hands flew to grip the sheets and he let out a strangled noise. Draco huffed a soft sound of disbelief and kissed his hips. Harry squirmed a little and gasped loudly.

  
Draco teased him, working Harry into a keening mess stretching him with two, and then three, fingers before he finally moved up to push into him. Harry’s glasses were barely perched on his face, his eyes popped wide, and his hair was probably sticking straight up. It was the best moment of his life.

  
He rocked his hips up insistently before Draco finally started thrusting. His hands shook on Harry’s hips when he angled just the right way. Harry spasmed and arched back hard, sucking in a sharp breath that he let out with a moan. Draco set a harder pace after that, rocking into Harry in an almost feverish manner. Harry tugged around his neck to kiss him again. Draco moved his hand to stroke Harry’s cock. He pulled back with a sharp groan, burying his face against Harry’s neck as he came. Harry felt a hot wash of arousal and bucked his hips up to Draco’s, almost panicked. Draco moved and dropped his hot mouth around the head of Harry’s cock.

  
Even the half blurry view through his lopsided glasses was enough to send him spiraling over the edge. Draco spluttered a bit and Harry gasped an apology, carding his fingers weakly through Draco’s hair. He received a chuckle in return.

  
“Just caught me off guard,” He murmured as he crawled back up to lay tangled with Harry.

  
“Caught me off guard too,” He shifted and pressed a lazy kiss to Draco again.

  
“It’s because I’m just that good.” Draco boasted.

  
“Shut up, you prat.” Harry laughed and let his eyes drift shut.

  
*****

Explaining what had happened to Healer Ashford had been embarrassing. Explaining to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had been worse. Ginny had just held a hand out to Hermione and Ron and received 10 galleons.

  
“I should have charged interest on that bet.” Ginny laughed. Harry tried valiantly to remain unamused.

  
“Did it HAVE to be Malfoy?” Ron asked, just a touch petulantly. He was elbowed in the ribs and sent Hermione a wounded look.

  
“Apparently so, Ron. I’d say sorry but I’m really not,” Harry replied with a laugh. He was in the middle of knitting a cardigan for Mrs. Weasely and had a small pile of cat sweaters for when Draco came over for dinner later that night.

  
“So, that anger management went well?” Hermione asked with her usual insatiable curiosity.

  
“I haven’t stabbed anyone with the needles yet, so I think so.” He shrugged helplessly.

  
“If only I had showed you how when I started in Hogwarts!”

  
“I might still have hearing in the ear closest to Harry’s side of the dorm.” Ron quipped. Harry pegged a ball of yarn off of his temple, instigating a yarn fight until it rolled to the other side of the room.

  
“Am I gunna need to look for a new Auror partner?” Ginny asked when it was finally over.

  
“Er—yeah. Malfoy and I are going to start an animal shelter, actually.” Harry answered. He gave what suspiciously felt like Draco’s smirk in reply to their shell-shocked expressions.

 

End


End file.
